reluctant prisoner across the room. But Quirl was heavier, andhis arm harder, than Gore had supposed. The hand came away, and with atearing scream, the beautiful silk garment ripped off, ruined,disclosing Quirl's white and well-knit body.
"You done that a-purpose!" Gore roared, and then his great ape's armswere around Quirl, trying to break his back.
But that seemingly slight body would not bend, and, as much as Goremight tug and heave, he could not force Quirl back. The littlepig-eyes glared, and there was death in them. Suddenly Gore let go.His hand leaped to the short club at his side, and he swung the weaponin a vicious arc. Quirl's relaxed forearm met it, sapping most of itsforce. Yet when it struck his head it seemed to burst like a ball offire. He crashed against the wall and sank to the floor only halfconscious.
"Gore! Gore!" yelled the guard from the platform, "'member how sorethe Old Man was about the last terrie you killed? Better lay off."
"Shut yo'r damned mug!" Gore yelled back. But he gave up his idea ofkicking the prisoner, and with a menacing glare for the guard, passedon.
* * * * *
As Quirl's mind slowly cleared he congratulated himself for hisrepression. During his struggle with Gore his hand had come in contactwith the butt of the mate's electrogun. He could easily have pulled itout of its holster and turned it against its owner. But this hastyaction would not only have assured his own death, but would havedestroyed the only chance the I.F.P. had of learning "The Scourge's"secrets.
Gore slowly worked his way to the women's side of the hold. Here, muchto the amusement of the guard and himself, he began stripping offtheir long, flowing robes, disclosing their nude bodies. He seemed tosee particular humor to heaping indignity on the older women,commenting coarsely on their shortcomings. The men viewed this withset, pale faces. But none dared to interfere. In their midst was anobject lesson, his head swathed in bandages. He had been the first toresent this exhibition, an almost daily event, when the mate's rovingeye had happened to alight upon his wife.
All at once Gore's careless and derogatory progress was halted, and hestared with terrifying intentness at the girl who had until that daymanaged to escape his notice. Gore had torn off a nondescript blackcape that had covered her head and face, and the golden silk robe shewore. To Quirl, watching from a space of some sixty feet, her beautycame like a shock. He remembered her as Lenore Hyde, whom he had seenonly once before as she emerged briefly from her stateroom.
About five feet, six inches tall, her slim figure was dwarfed by thehuge bulk of the mate. Her golden hair tumbled over her slimshoulders, almost to her waist, where a tasseled cord held theclinging silk close to her. Her face, so white that it seemed likesilver in that gorgeous setting, was cold and defiant. There was nofear in those deep blue eyes under the straight brows--only loathingand contempt.
Gore was not concerned with the personal feelings of his prize. Helicked his wide, cruel lips, seizing the girl's arms as in a vise. Hisother big, dirty hand slipped into the collar of her robe.
* * * * *
But the ripping of fabric did not come. Instead there was a sharpcrack, and Gore, too surprised even to move, stared at the little manwho had hit him.
Again _crack_! The impact of fist on jaw. The blow was too weak tohurt this toughened veteran of countless battles. But slowly a tide ofdull red welled up over the bull neck, turning the blue-black jowls topurple, and the walls echoed to Gore's roar of anger.
Again the fists of the smaller man smacked, this time drawing atrickle of blood from Gore's mouth. Then the thick fingers closed onthe brave passenger's wrist, and the tremendous muscles swelled as,with a quick movement, Gore thrust his adversary back of him, graspingthe other wrist also. Then with slow, irresistible motion, he begandrawing the thin arms forward, stretching them, until the unfortunateman, drawn against the barrier of Gore's back, began to shriek withpain.
Still Gore pulled, grinning evilly, and his victim's shoulder bladeslifted under the tight skin of his back as they took the strain.Shriek followed shriek, until the guard on the platform glancedfurtively out into the central well. There came a dry, tearing crackleas the bones of the arms were drawn out of their sockets, and then theshrieks ceased as merciful unconsciousness came. Gore tossed the limpbody carelessly away.
"The beast!" Quirl gritted his teeth. But he stayed where he was,hiding his clenched fist, for his was a specific assignment, and menof the I.F.P. know the meaning of the word "duty."
In a better humor again, Gore looked around.
"Come on, you little ginny!" he chortled. "I see you! Come to Moby, mybeauty. You'll be queen of the hold, and this scurvy litter will kissyour feet every day."
* * * * *
He pursued her as she ran, bowling over or trampling on thefear-stricken prisoners as they tried to scramble out of his way, menand women alike. But she made up in agility what she lacked instrength, lifting up the hem of her robe so that her legs twinkledbare, ducking under Gore's outstretched arms, or leaping over thefallen form of some stumbling, panic-stricken unfortunate.
Only in her eyes was there a true picture of her terror. Gore'suncertain temper was changing again, and in a few moments he wascursing foully, his little red-rimmed eyes glistening, as he dashedafter her with short, boar-like rushes.
Again she skimmed past where Quirl cowered in simulated fear, and thelook she gave him struck straight at the disguised officer's heart. Soit was that when she slipped and fell to her knees, and Gore chargedin with a triumphant laugh, Quirl met him with no thought of anything,no feeling but the joy of battle, the delight of a strong man when hemeets a foe whom he hates. And to that heady, feral emotion was addedthe unforgettable picture of a lovely face whose obvious fear wassomehow tempered by hope and confidence--in him!
As Gore lunged past, Quirl struck him. It was a short, sharp,well-timed jab that would have knocked out an ordinary man. But Gorewas by no means ordinary. The blow laid open his cheek against thejawbone, but Gore scarcely slowed as he swerved. With a bellow ofrage, he came straight at Quirl, arms outstretched.
Philosophers have said that no matter how far the human race advancesin the sciences, its fundamental reactions will still be atavistic.Gore could have dispatched Quirl in a second with his ray weapon, withperfect safety. Yet it is doubtful that the weapon even entered hismind. As he came to the battle he was driven only by the primitiveurge to fight with his hands, to maim, to tear limb from limb like thegreat simians whom he resembled.
* * * * *
To Quirl, coolly poised, the picture of Gore did not inspire terror.In the passengers, it did. They saw a brutal giant, gorilla-like, androaring like a beast, charging at a half-naked youth apparently onlyhalf his size. It seemed that those tremendous arms must break him atthe first touch.
But the grasping hands slipped off the lithe body as if it were oiled,leaving only angry red welts along Quirl's ribs. As the officer edgedaway he planted two blows on Gore's nose, which began to bleed freely.
Again Gore rushed, and _spat!_ _spat!_ two seemingly light blowslanded on his face, opening a cut above his eye and another on hischeek bone. In a few seconds of battling he had become a shockingsight, with his features almost obscured by welling blood.
Again Quirl measured him, and this time, instead of evading the graspof the mate's eager arms, he stepped right between them. Like a wraithhe slipped into their embrace, and before they could grasp him,standing so close that his chest almost touched his adversary's, hewhipped a right to Gore's jaw. It was the kind of punch that makeschampions, a whiplike lash of the forearm, with relaxed muscles thattighten at the moment of impact. A punch with "follow-through" fit toknock out ninety-nine men out of a hundred.
But it did not knock out Gore, and Quirl had to pay dearly for hiserror. Gore was staggered, but his mighty arms closed, hugging hisslighter opponent to his hairy chest so that the breath was choked outof him, and the metal stu
ds on his harness gouged cruelly into Quirl'sflesh. His face was blue before he could work his arm loose, and beginto prod with stiffened fingers at Gore's throat. Gore had to let gothen, and Quirl broke away, boxed for a few moments until he hadrecovered, and then proceeded to chop Gore's face beyond any semblanceof humanity.
The mate had dropped his ray weapon, and now searched for it withblinded eyes. He flung his riot club, and it flew wide of the mark. Itwas obvious that he was going to be beaten into insensibility.
* * * * *
The guard on the platform, seeing the trend of the battle, shoutedhoarsely up the well, and in a few minutes four men, hard-bitten,villainous looking fellows, tumbled down the ladder and joyouslyjoined in the fray. It was then only a matter of seconds before Quirllay on the floor-plates, battered and bleeding, but still